The Admittedly Short but Wonderful Life
by Aduro
Summary: of an Accident, by Lukas E. Malfoy. Once Titled: What I Did on my Summer Holiday and the Rest of my Life. A look into a character who has been dead since the beginning of The Code series. Written in honor of a reviewers b-day, but so late, I forgot who...


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's note: I have a terrible announcement to make. A reviewer once asked me for a story in honor of his/her birthday. I said "Hey, no problem. I've got this idea bouncing around in my head. I'll have it done in a week or so." The week turned into probably a year and now I don't know who this is for. If it's yours, I apologize. It was supposed to be a drabble to show some insight into Lukas Malfoy. It's dreadfully late, because apparently I don't drabble. I write chaptered one-shots. Happy belated birthday to you reviewer!

p.s. Yes, I'm still working on the Decoding. The next chapter is just being a bit difficult. It'll be up next week.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

The Admittedly Short, but Wonderful, Life of an Accident

By Lukas E. Malfoy

Original Title: How Being a Bastard is a Lot More Fun than You Would Think

Discarded Title: Watch out For Your Psychotic Grandmother: A Guide for Breaking Shocking News to Your Inbred, Close-Minded Relatives

Once Titled: What I Did on my Summer Holiday, and the Rest of My Life

Never Titled: Lukas Malfoy, a Memoir (even though that's what this is)

Prologue

I'm told that beginnings are important. In the first paragraph, the author should grab the reader's attention with a humorous anecdote, or a joke, or an original profound saying. A profound quote is a good alternative if the author is too dumb to think of a witty, enlightening statement.

I have a lot of funny stories I could open with, from when I wanted to fly and jumped off the roof when I was five, to the pranks I pulled in school, to that one time at boarding school when…well, it's too indecent to put into print. I've a bunch of good jokes as well, but I don't know where I would go from there. As for profound sayings, I've always left them to my little brother, half-brother if you want to be technical about it. The kid's sharper than a dragon tooth.

I don't have a good beginning, maybe because my own wasn't particularly charming. But I suppose it's the best place to start.

Chapter One: Accident

Accidents are startling and unnerving. Big ones are life-changing. While accidents can be treasured, even looked upon with happiness after the fact, they are accompanied with such upheaval, uncertainty and fear that it is mostly impossible to love one, an accident that is, and I was a big accident.

Because of this, my mother never loved me the way she was loved by her parents, unconditionally. I was occasionally discarded when she grew tired of caring for me and given to nannies and tutors. I was occasionally the reason she cried, when she wished her life had turned out differently, and she never hid her tears from me. I was occasionally snapped at when I got in the way or created a mess of my own, the "Accident having an accident", though never to the same extreme as my mother.

Don't be depressed, or think that this is a sad story. Because while Accidents are all of these, we are also celebrated with more happiness than a planned event, because planned events are, well, planned and predicted and the result of several purposeful factors. Accidents come from chance encounters and a hint of Fate.

Accidents are talked about too. They are so sudden, they must be shared with friends and family, although many details are kept quiet.

Because of this, I received more than my fair share of attention. I was introduced to society as an exciting story of my mother's youth, and people around me laughed with my mother at the description of the handsome man who made all of the girls swoon and how my mother caught him (my father, though the name was never mentioned). Because of this, I was held as more precious, though not as desirable, as a legitimate child.

It was an odd dynamic, I'll be the first to admit. I understood at an early age that should my mother and her family ever tire of me, I would be comfortably put away in a house in a nice town where no one would recognize me. I would be free to entertain myself and only be brought out for holidays or when they needed amusing. This never bothered me. In fact, I was rather liberated by the knowledge that I had, well, an 'out' from high society.

It was not this fear of disposal that made me the person I am today, or was the other day, or other year, or however long it's been since my death. I was always that happy, always that energetic, always that charming. You shouldn't be surprised. After all, I was the result of a passionate and careless tryst. I proved to be just that passionate, and just that carefree. Is it any wonder I spent my life making people laugh and fall in love with me?

And I love people too. They fascinate me, enchant me. I can't get enough of them. I live to break their inhibitions, like my mother broke my father's. When a person reacts, really reacts without thought for social rules or consequences, that's when you really get to know them.

I, perhaps, do not love my Grandmother Malfoy. As she killed me, I think I have a right to hold a grudge.

Chapter Two: Lucius

I met my father for the first time when I was four. He, of course, was present for my birth and for a few days afterwards, but then he left, as the families agreed. I was born outside of an approved marriage, outside of any marriage, and my father was too young to raise a child or even think about raising a child. My mother was older and had just graduated Hogwarts. She was not in need of a job or a husband and her parents thought the responsibility of a child might be good for her. She was to raise me with their support and my father would remain nameless.

After he graduated school and was established in a position in England's Ministry, he came for a visit. Quite honestly, I don't remember much about the visit. I remember his face and his expression, that small bit of a smile that he tried to suppress, but that was it. My mother and grandparents, however, love to tell the story, and I've heard it so many times, I can almost remember the cool dirt under my toes and the scent of orchids. It goes something like this:

My father was to visit for two weeks in the summer. My mother was in a tizzy trying to make sure everything was ready for him, not because she was trying to win him back, but because that's how she usually is with company. I think she was also hoping I would make a good impression, to at least impress him at how well their Accident had turned out.

He was to arrive that afternoon, and she put me down for a nap, hoping that a bit of extra sleep would put me on my best behavior. I, however, wasn't tired right then and I had learned how to escape the house without being caught.

It was a beautiful spring day, and I loved playing outside, so I snuck out into the garden. We had a host of magical creatures there, small, harmless pixies, singing beetles, and my favorite, glowing worms. I found a nest of them under the griffin orchids and immediately set to playing with them, and in the process, completely covered myself in the rich, black dirt and the neon green slime that covered the worms.

That was when I heard mother walking by and I quickly hid in the plants, holding onto my new-found worm friend. I knew I wasn't supposed to be there and the punishment would be no dessert after dinner.

Lucius and his mother had arrived and mother and grand-mere were walking with them in the garden while a servant went to see if I was awake. The two parties wandered for a while, before stopping right in front of my hiding place. My mother and grand-mere split off when the servant arrived to quietly inform them that I was missing.

I vaguely remember peering out at the tall man. He had white-blond hair that fell into his steel grey eyes. He was wearing rich blue robes and had a large ring on his finger. The woman he was with was older. She was an aging beauty, but her face was twisted in a sneer that frightened me.

She was speaking to the man and I didn't understand the words she was saying. She had never liked mother, I know that now, and so had never liked me. She would have liked to see her son pay his bastard no mind at all. I remember the look on my father's face. It was cold and unmoving, but he was turned away from her, his mouth set in the same line mother's got when she was angry.

I must have moved, or sneezed, or stepped on a twig, because suddenly the man looked right at me. His head tilted to the side but he didn't call. He simply looked, and that was enough to make me crawl out at his unspoken command.

He knew immediately I was his. The hair and skin gave it away.

"Dear Merlin," the woman said in revulsion. "He is filthy. What do they do? Let him run wild with the hired help? Let him play in the garden like a Mudblood? We will leave now, Lucius. I will not have your father's name associated with this piece of rabble. Now, Lucius! I command it!"

Her tone was sharp and piercing and I hated her already.

"Come now, Mother," said Lucius in a poised sort of tone. "When have I ever done something because you simply commanded it? Besides, this is your grandson. Shouldn't you be pleased?"

The woman sniffed and then stalked over to me. I think I stared at her like she was an ogre because she 'hmmpfed' and jerkily knelt.

"This dress will not come clean after this," she said, and then leveled me with a glare that would have turned Medusa into stone. "Come now, child. I'm your grandmother. Say 'how do you do' if you wish to be any part of my family."

I knew mother would shriek when I showed her the glowing worms. Grand-mere would shudder. I hated this old lady so I threw it in her face exclaiming happily "Wormy says how do you do!"

She screamed and toppled over. I fled, watching her as I ran and laughing all the while, until I ran straight into my father's leg. I nearly bounced off but grabbed his robes to keep from falling. I tilted my head up, up, up to see his face, and that was the expression I remembered, that small bit of a smile, like he wanted to laugh but would never dare such a thing.

I laughed for him, peals of gurgling laughter. Something shone in his eyes and he bent down and scooped me up, dirt and all.

"Hello, Lukas," he said. "I'm your father."

I grinned and tugged his hair with a grimy hand. "Yes."

He came to see me every summer after that, although he hardly ever brought his mother with him. She swore she would never come back after that first meeting, but I sometimes think he persuaded her just to see what I would do to her. I was a bastard after all, and I could get away with behavior most people would call rude. I could torment what must have been a horrible mother like he never could have.

Sometimes I saw him over Christmas or other holidays, but never for long, and for that I'm glad. He was cold, even then, no doubt from being raised by such horrible parents, and the passing years only served to harden his heart. I could, occasionally, soften the granite to marble, or melt the ice to the frigid oceans of the Arctic, but I knew that prolonged exposure to him would strangle even my passion for laughter.

Chapter 3: Benefits of Being a Bastard

I was schooled in etiquette, but not at a fancy boarding school like most French high-society students before they go to Beauxbatons. I was instructed at home, and while I was expected to portray such schooling in the presence of company, I was never pressed on my manners while in the company of my family.

I was also given a far greater amount of freedom than legitimate heirs. Instead of tutoring for most of the day, I only had morning classes and then was free to play with the butler's children, or run into town and play with the children there. They were impressed that a rich boy could roughhouse with the best of them, and I was happy that they didn't mind getting dirty. My smiles and antics soon won over the rest of the town, and I swear they fell in love with me. I could get an ice cream with a grin, or a pocket full of candy with a cheerful wave and a joke. For my part, I was never opposed to helping sweep off the front steps if need be, or watching a few younger kids while their parents ran a quick errand.

I didn't become friends with high society children until Beauxbatons. I had met several of mother's friends at tea or dinner parties before school, and they had adored me, but in the way puppies are adored in the stores. It is all well and good to exclaim over a wriggling ball of fluff from a window, or reach out and pet it, and get the fingers nipped in the process, but no high society woman wants to buy such an animal. The mess is far too great. If they do purchase it, the pet is shipped off for two years of obedience school.

So I delighted and charmed them, but never became a playmate for their children. I was a bit too wild. I was a bit too uneducated. I was a bit of a mess, but no one expected more.

I did become more though, and really, it was completely unintentional. I like people, I may have mentioned that before, and while it didn't lead me to an obsessive need for everyone to like me back, I simply wanted everyone to laugh with me, to leave just a little bit happier. It is my firm belief that people are only miserable because there is no one around to force them into smiling. I was that force.

Because I liked being around people, I began noticing things at a young age. How people acted when they were sad, or angry, or jealous. I learned how they acted when they were trying to hide it. I learned what made them react without thought, and what made them run away. Everyone is different, but after a while, you can pick out patterns.

I became the best people-reader in all of France by the time I was ten and I shamelessly used that to my advantage when it came to the high-society crowds.

For my first month in Beauxbatons, I was a bit of an outsider. Privileged, legitimate kids knew better than to hang out with me, and the normal kids who grew up in average-income homes thought all of us rich kids were snobs. There may have been a few others like me, bastards, I mean, but they were better hidden than I, and didn't want to draw attention to their own shadowed family trees by hanging out with me. I didn't let that stop me.

By the time Christmas break came, I was invited home by eleven friends, all from the normal walks of life. By the time I left for summer, I had invitations from the rich kids as well. They were a bit harder to crack, but if there is one thing I can do, it's keep a secret, something of real value to that crowd. The things I heard shocked me, but I think it helped them to tell someone.

I had a lot of girlfriends in the later years of school. In fact, many times parents encouraged their daughters to date me. I was a good looking boy with a gorgeous smile and perfect manners. Although I was known to be irreverent, I was nice. Parents began to realize they could trust me to treat their daughters' right. I was the perfect boyfriend.

I was not, however, the perfect husband. My father was unknown and so I would not receive my mother's full estate as an inheritance. After a few months of dating, my girlfriends were encouraged to move on to better things.

That sort of dating worked well for me. I was never serious enough to think about marriage, nor could I stop falling in love with the next pretty girl who walked by. I was flirty and flighty and didn't have a jealous bone in my body, much like my mother. I could afford girlfriends and parties, and I had no desire for anything more. I don't think I could be serious if I tried. Except for when I heard about the upheaval in England.

Chapter 4: Big Brother

During the first years I was in school, rumors of a Dark Lord in England were on the rise, along with talk of blood purity and superiority. It was a terrifying subject in France, where half of the power in the Ministry was old blood, but half of it was new and decidedly Muggle-influenced. Had any sort of Dark Lord risen in France, there would be more than a terrorist group, there would have been civil war.

When I first heard of it, my first thought was for Lucius, and I hoped that he was safe. He was England's Ambassador to France at the time, and had a residence in Paris, but spent much time in England. It wasn't until a day later that I realized that if he was involved, he would be on the side I hated and denounced in my head.

For a few hours I surprised myself with my ability to be pensive and thoughtful. My mother, not used to the silence and pursed lips, thought I was ill.

I was cured that evening when I heard news that Lucius and his wife Narcissa were going to have a baby. I was going to be an older brother, well, half-brother. I don't think I slept at all that night, I was so excited. I was sorely disappointed when my mother told me the baby wasn't coming that day, but in eight months. I nearly threw a fit.

Draco was born on June 5th. The first thing I demanded of my father once I reached his French estate was, "You seriously named your kid Draco?"

"Lukas," he said neutrally in greeting.

"Do you want him to get beaten up?" I asked.

"If anything, he will do the beating."

"Because he'll have to take pre-emptive measures," I said. At almost thirteen, I was feeling quite protective of my very new little brother. Half brother, technically.

"Do you want to see him or not?" Lucius asked.

"Are the Magpies going to win the Quidditch World Cup?" I asked. "I just left Arina Bakov's birthday party for the kid who won't even remember my visit."

Lucius got that tightening of his lips, suppressing the smile. He led me into a grand nursery and over to a crib that was far too big for even a baby giant. It was covered in pillows and blankets with five mobiles hanging from above and there, in the center, was my baby brother. Yes, technically half-brother, I know.

He was tiny and pink and fast asleep. My heart melted.

I stayed the entire summer with him. I thought he was the best thing since my new broom, a Comet. He slept a lot, and stared a lot, but he never cried, which I thought was a bit odd. He had this fussy sort of yell, and sometimes whined, but no tears, never any sobs. I thought he was just a content child. I know differently now.

I spent summers at my father's house, now that Draco was born. Lucius was always busy, and Narcissa was, well, she's a user and an alcoholic. Draco was raised by his nannies over the school year and by me in the summer.

He was always a serious kid, and he had this look about him, like he knew everything that was going on, and if you'd only just ask him, he could tell you the secrets of the universe. Of course, you never would ask him because he was just a kid for crying out loud.

I had a lot going on those years. I was trying to decide what I wanted to do with my life, and I had at least four girlfriends a year, and my mother was pressuring me to start thinking about settling down. I liked going over to Lucius' for the summer. It allowed me to escape and I absolutely loved Draco.

The only thing that made me uncomfortable was realizing that Lucius had been mixed in with the Death Eaters, even though it was never proven. And I knew that Draco was going to grow up the same way. I didn't want him to be caught up in such a war. I didn't want him to grow up believing that certain people were less than human. So when he was three, I started taking him to Muggle parks and zoos on the sly. I told him not to tell Lucius, and by Merlin, I think he understood me.

Perhaps it was arrogant of me, to think I knew better than my own father, but I saw how cold Lucius had become. It was a real struggle to make him smile and sometimes he looked at me like he didn't even know who I was. I was happier than Lucius, and I wanted Draco to be more like me, to see people the way I saw them, with potential for good and evil, as a series of experiences that shaped their world view, as fountains of knowledge in their own right, as endlessly fascinating.

I think I did right by him. Draco was a quiet little kid, too serious and solemn to be a child, but when he was with me, I got him to smile and laugh. I taught him how to play in the dirt and climb trees. And he showed me that I had a lot to be grateful for. If I'd been born a few years later, that could be me, forced into the mold of a perfect child and not allowed to run free.

Chapter 5: Her

I remember the first time I saw her. I could go on and on about her, about her eyes, about her hair, about her smile. Especially about her smile. That's what first caught my attention.

I was at the Muggle zoo with Draco. We were watching a chimpanzee show, you know the ones, where the trainer tries to demonstrate how smart the monkeys are. She was just a helper in the background, or was supposed to be, but whenever the trainer let go of the chimpanzee, it would run back to her.

She was embarrassed. Her face was redder than a tomato, and the audience was laughing because no matter how much the trainer tempted the chimp with whatever was in his bucket, the chimp would first look to her and she would nod and make a hand motion, and only then would the chimp perform.

Even from the bleachers, it was obvious to see why the chimp liked her. Her embarrassed grin was sweeter than any flirtatious smile I had seen and she was gentle, softly directing the chimp to the objects on stage.

I can't say it was love at first sight, but then again, I've fallen in love at first sight so many times the feeling was old. I was intrigued. I smiled just watching her.

After the show we finished the zoo tour. Draco liked to run ahead and climb up on the fence to read the little information plaques about the animals. Then he would come over and prattle off every word. At that time, I wouldn't have been surprised to find out he was a genius.

We were leaving the zoo when I saw the chimp girl standing outside a taxi, trying to ask, in broken French, how much it would be for a ride back to her house. Her accent was terrible, and she was blushing again.

I walked over and helped. How could I not? I even flirted a bit, found out where she was staying, and then, after dropping Draco back off at Lucius', I went to her place and asked her out to dinner.

With Samantha, there weren't sparks or fireworks, but all the same, I couldn't stay away. She was comfortable and honest and when she smiled at me, I felt like the happiest man on earth. It took me a while to figure out why I couldn't stay away. It was because she made me feel loved, unconditionally. Even when I stared at a pretty girl or made an ass of myself. I found myself talking to her, about everything, even being an Accident. I told her about my parents too, and Draco my technically half-brother. She said technicalities didn't matter when it came to family.

Honestly, I don't know why I proposed to her. It was not even a year of talking and dinner and long walks and movies. We hadn't broached the topic of marriage and I think I was avoiding it more than she. I don't do serious very well.

It happened suddenly. We were walking through a mall one day and we passed a designer jewelry store. Like any girl, she stopped and looked at the displays, and I saw it there. The perfect ring. She was staring at it too.

Despite her protests, I walked into the store and asked to see it. They obliged, I called her over, and slid it on her finger. It fit perfectly. She immediately took it off, afraid of wrecking it or something, but I slapped a credit card down and put it back on her finger.

"Marry me," I said.

"What?"

"Marry me."

She laughed. "Why?"

I had a thousand reasons. All that came out was, "You make me happy."

She stared at me. "You're serious, aren't you?"

I was. For the second time in my life. It scared me, but it felt right.

"I think I am," I said.

"Then why aren't you on one knee?"

I knelt. Passerby's gawked; the jewelry store clerks gathered around.

"Marry me, Sam?" I asked.

"Okay," she said. "But I don't want a long engagement."

I didn't either, besides, she was leaving back home for England in a week.

"Marry me today," I said.

"Only if I find a dress."

We found her dress. It actually wasn't ready until the next day, but that gave me time to find a minister and church, so I could marry her properly. I was sure she, like every Muggle girl, had a wedding dream that included a church. She loved it, and it was worth every penny I had to pay for a last minute booking.

Chapter 6: Reality Sometimes Bites

I keep wondering if it was selfish of me, if it was selfish to go to Lucius and tell him about my life. I knew that there were risks involved, but I was pretty sure that he wouldn't do anything. And I was right about that, but in the end, it didn't really matter.

The fact that I set up my will before I left should dissuaded me from going. If I had to take that kind of precaution, maybe the risk wasn't worth it. But I still did, because he was my father, and Draco had a niece and sister-in-law. He had a right to know; they both did.

When I got there, Grandmother Malfoy was present. I hadn't expected her, and she made it that much harder. I ended up lying, saying I was going to marry a Muggle girl, not that I had married her and now had a beautiful little girl with my eyes and her mother's hair. Maybe I wanted to protect them; maybe I wanted to break the news gently; maybe I just wanted to protect myself, to try on their reactions. God, I'm sorry I am such a sorry excuse for a father and for a husband. I was made for friendship and laughter. I am so afraid of responsibility. Why did you make her so wonderful?

I told Lucius I had found a girl, a Muggle girl, and that she made me happy. I told him I was going to marry her. Draco was sitting on the sofa, reading a book. Grandmother Malfoy was behind me on an armchair. I was standing in the middle of the room, Lucius in front of me, staring out the window.

He was remarkable composed at my news, informing me that I would have to drop the Malfoy name of course. I could do that. He said my visits would be limited. I looked to Draco with an apology. Lucius turned to me, and I looked back at him, smiling, knowing it would all be okay.

There was a shriek behind me, outrage. I never quite understood the words, just like when I first met her.

I can tell you that the Avada does not kill you instantly. Sure, your heart stops beating and your lungs stop filling, but there is time for the last few neurons to fire in your brain, carrying the last few images from your eyes to your mind, allowing a few last regrets.

My last thoughts were confused at first. I was enveloped in green and I was falling, oh so slowly, to the floor. There was pain, but very little. The Avada is Unforgiveable not for the victim, but for those who are left behind. A second is too quick to say goodbye.

It wasn't until I saw Draco's face that I realized what had happened. His face had gone sheet white, his mouth open in horror. His eyes, oh God, forgive me. His eyes were so terrified.

I realized then that I had been hit by the Avada from behind. I knew I was dead and my first regret was for Samantha and Delaney. I had left them alone. I would never know my daughter.

My second regret was that Draco was watching me die. Well, I was technically already dead, but his eyes haunted me. There was so much I wanted to show him, to tell him, to teach him. I was leaving him alone with Lucius. Lucius who never smiled anymore, never laughed. Lucius who was never around. How could I leave him there?

I was still falling, time seemed to slow, and then I could feel strong arms grab me. Lucius lowered me to the floor, my head cradled against his arm, his free hand stroking my face insistently. My eyes were still open, unblinking, and I could see his face. His eyes were raw for the first time, disbelieving and aghast. His lips were moving; I could read my name, over and over.

"Lukas, Lukas. Lukas, no. Lukas, stay here. Lukas, please, Lukas. Lukas."

I wanted to smile in reassurance; I wanted to reach up and touch his own face, to say it was okay. I was just an Accident who met with his own accident. I wanted to make his lips tighten again in that repressed smile.

To my horror, they did, but now they were suppressing tears. I could feel my vision fading, and my body was numb, detached. I watched Lucius shake his head.

"No. No, Lukas. Lukas."

I felt him pull me to his chest, strong arms wrapped tight but his touch was so soft. His breathing hitched and it was like a butterfly lighted on my cheek. I felt his tear land on my cheek, then another. It felt like fairy kisses.

I don't remember when I closed my eyes, or maybe I never had, but when my vision returned it was to see…

Well, I can't really tell you about the afterlife. It would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?

Just know we aren't as gone as you fear we are. Or maybe you like to think we are completely removed, in which case, sorry, but I really did see you make a fool of yourself on that date last night.

Just kidding. We visit people who remember us. And you don't have to be a ghost to make the occasional haunting. Let's just say I might have been a bit cruel to my Grandmother Malfoy before Lucius offed her.

I check in on Lucius now and then, but it's a bit depressing. He no longer does that lip tighten thing, and while I know he loves Draco more than he ever loved me, it's like he has to hide his emotions that much more. I think he started dying the day he disowned Draco.

I check in on Draco too. He's doing well for himself, and his girlfriend is adorable. I think they make a cute couple. And who would have known, but I totally called that genius thing.

I don't visit Sam all that often. Sometimes Muggles are more attuned to ghostly presences where wizards are numb because it's just another magical signature on top of things. My presence spooks Laney a bit, and if I'm being honest, which I can be because, hey, I'm dead, I never really got over the guilt.

And it's not just guilt about dying. It's guilt because I don't know how good of a father I would have made, or how good a husband I would have been. I don't take things seriously very well, but once you're dead, people tend to forget your worse traits.

I visit Bill sometimes, because he thinks about me more and more. I like him. I would have liked to be like him if I had lived, because he has the balance down between having a good time and being serious.

Anyway, I guess the whole point of this was my own way of saying good-bye. Life was short, but altogether wonderful. And you know what? It was absolutely worth it.


End file.
